


shallow work is the work that we do

by velavelavela



Series: and the four of us will not betray (no money will shake us) [3]
Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Enemies and Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantober 2020, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV Second Person, Songfic, Unreliable Narrator, mature just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velavelavela/pseuds/velavelavela
Summary: Is it always to be like this? You and him? You can’t stand the thought of anything lasting forever.fantober2020 day 25: enemies to lovers
Relationships: Anastasia Furan/Maximilian Nero
Series: and the four of us will not betray (no money will shake us) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719550
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	shallow work is the work that we do

**Author's Note:**

> song lyrics are flush right & not mine. song is the book of right-on by joanna newsom (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fx_LtIZVYb8) inspired by mitch's contessa fanfic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020296) ty ty

_ We should shine a light on, a light on _

_ And the book of right-on’s right on _

_ It was right on _

You meet him and have him on the same day in the far bathroom of the building. Once you started getting what you wanted (this was however, after your childhood of greasy hair and sleeping in abandoned attics and warehouses, of cold autumns and much colder winters, of Pietor’s runny noses and Elena’s worn shoes) you never stopped. This is something you take pride in, like the iguana skins and rare butterflies you keep in your Moscow apartment.

_ I killed my dinner with karate _

_ Kick ‘em in the face, taste the body _

_ Shallow work is the work that I do _

There is something about him that makes you want to break him. Peel his twig skin open to reveal the green inside, then set him on fire to hear the crackle. There are not many people who entice you like this. So, you invite him over for dinner. You pull your hair up elegantly. You have a chef make something Italian. You put on soft music, you open the blinds to the floor to ceiling windows so that the moon can blanket the room. Post-coitally, as you light a cigarette, you think in depth about killing him as he lies on his back beside you. But you also think about how upset Number One would be, and you aren’t sure you wanted to test the big man quite yet. There is something so weak about Max, and you feel as though if you try, you can dig your thumbs into his chest and pry open his ribcage and see the silken heart inside beating, beating, beating.

_ Do you want to sit at my table? _

_ My fighting flame is fable _

_ And fortune finds me fit and able _

His mouth tastes like peppermint one December night. You breathe beckoning words into it. Is it always to be like this? You and him? You can’t stand the thought of anything lasting forever. That night you get so drunk that when he says something disgusting, you throw a vase at the wall. It shatters into glass and petals and dashes of water. And the morning after is a G.L.O.V.E. meeting, to which you both show up hungover and sickly. In those moments you decide to never drink whiskey again as you sip wine from your opaque water bottle. You don’t look at him, but he’s undressing you with his eyes.

_ And you do say _

_ That you do pray _

_ And you say _

_ That you’re okay _

You believe in a god, you tell him one day, but you believe they are malevolent and cruel. He asks why, and you place your hand palm-up on the table between the two of you. “You see this?” you tap your lifeline with a delicate finger, “I should’ve died a long time ago.”

_ Do you want to run with my pack? _

_ Do you want to ride on my back? _

_ Pray that what you lack does not distract _

He wants to meet your family. He is new to G.L.O.V.E. and his daddy’s friends are too acquainted with him as a child to interact with him on a truly professional level. You put on a black dress. Pietor has been training with the KGB, he’s unavailable and cross with you for asking. You introduce him to your sister, and you can tell something is happening. Elena smiles, and you purse your lips, and later that night you fuck him until he’s shivering beneath you, cold, uncomfortable.

_ And even when you run through my mind _

_ Something else is in front, oh you’re behind _

One night you twirl around the living room, his arm around your waist and your hand perched like a bird of prey on his shoulder. “Anastasia,” he says. “Don’t talk,” you reply. The music swells. You’re thinking about stopping this. Ending it all. He’s going to say he loves you. You spin around him to his back, pressing your forehead to his neck as the song stops.

_ And even when you touch my face _

_ You know your place _

You let him stay, though. He worships the ground you walk on. Is that normal? Where would he be without you? Friendless. Boring. You sit on a bench together, and he reaches up to caress your soft cheek. You feel the toughness of his fingernails, the flesh of his fingertips. This is a privilege for him, and he knows it. You take his hand in yours and curl your fingers together, lacing them like latticing. His eyes are the color of coal, you notice now, and his hair the texture of moth wings.


End file.
